#misread
i didn't intend
for it to seem pointed
that time the dog
accidentally ******
on the
church
steps
Jan 29, 2024
Jan 29, 2024 at 8:42 PM UTC
I am constantly misread.
By the way I speak,
The words I write,
And the actions I do.
Everything is analyzed in such a way, today
That there is no way around it.
We are criticized,
Yelled at,
Belittled,
Because of words we did not say.
But for the interpretations people take from our
Words we speak,
Words we write,
And actions we do.
Life was simple back then
When I wasn’t constantly misread.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 11:03 AM UTC
I have stacks and heaps of poems I have misread.
Where I filled the blanks
which were not meant to be filled.
Where I was supposed to stand stupefied by absurdity of life
I tried to find some order , some reason.
Where I was supposed to sit and listen to worries
I gave advice.Or worse, interfered in lives not mine.
It was always about what I could give to life,
than what life has given to me.
So I have suffered long
trying to fill silences in heart
and words in blank pages.
And never to have made a difference.
Never to have known the beauty
of being incomplete and unfinished.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 3:54 AM UTC
You told me
"I miss your lips,
Touching mine"
Then you confirmed
When I randomly said
That I've got into your heart
You told me
If I stay, you stay
Now, by all means
Explain to me
Which part
Of your words
That you can deny
Even your hands
Cannot be kept
Too far from mine
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
What a foolish little girl
The moment you were crashing down with emotions
When he pulled you close to his chest
He was feeling absolutely nothing
As for the rose you received
Is the game of illusion to deceived
Because that is just what he is
A very kind and gentle beast
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
Ripe, bitter, sour and oh so sweet.
Dangling off of a Californian tree.
Living within peels so stringent and
containing cascading juices so pungent.
He leaves you wanting, aching to know more.
He lures you in with the irresistible sweetest of enchanting
songs and ballads.
But what you didn't know was, that the ending
melody left you in a note that made you feel as though
you were drowning in a sea of rotten,
forgotten, and lost once loved dreams.
You became addicted to his freshness,
to the zest of his scent.
You became seduced, captivated even.
You let yourself become vulnerable
and susceptible to his touch.
You slowly opened up your wounds.
You let your friable bandages flow free.
You even let him lead the grand dance.
You let him twirl and spin you to the point
of reaching a state of trance or reverie.
He took you on romantic evening picnics,
he brought you to the oldest of antique boutiques,
and he even painted you angelic
mosaics in oil.
Ones comparable to those grandiose and imposing
works' of the masters.
At last he casted you under his spell
and he enticed you once again.
He had the charm of a thousand
and he was spontaneous in all his ways.
He never failed to surprise you.
They say he had an oriental descent
and this would explain much.
But when you least expected it,
he touched your wounds.
You felt an unbearable pain,
and a strange surge flow through you.
It burned, to say the least.
You almost felt your incisions
blister under the effect of his acid.
His yellow and aureolin tint
seemed only to be a facade.
An illusion, a charade to the naked eye.
But in that moment you could see through it.
You looked at him with pain-struck eyes,
full of confusion and disappointment.
You couldn't really identify the look in his.
You realized that he really had nothing to do
with his cadmium yellowish golden tint.
You felt as though you were fainting.
You were sinking and all the sweet
memories you two shared, flooded your
sight.
But then he said, "look at your wounds"
and you did as he ordered.
You looked down and shook off the stupor
and came back to.
You looked at your wounds and
became staggered and managed a mere "thank you".
For your wounds were no longer swollen and irritated.
He had healed you.
So when life hands you lemons,
don't make lemonade.
No, instead care for those
misunderstood beings,
and tend to their needs.
Because the lemons in our lives
are all too prevalent and far too
misread.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
"Don't go," I beg yet again.
"Do you want me to stay?" you ask, and I'm really quite confused as to how you aren't seeing that every single action of mine is pleading with you to stay with me tonight. I need you, need you to show me you love me in the most nonphysical and physical ways both, and at the same time I need you to understand all of that without me having to come right out and ask for it. I'm not trying to play mind games. Not at all. I need you, need you in the purest, rawest sense of the word. Yet no matter how many signals I put out they all slip past you. And after you leave, I lie there and cry to myself. Completely alone.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC